


WT: Of monsters and men

by jokolibroccoli



Category: Gotham (TV), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Crossover, Ed Nygma is a little shit, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Erik Lehnsherr Being a Drama Queen, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Plot, Plotty, Reunions, Slow Burn, but this is gotham so who isn't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:15:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jokolibroccoli/pseuds/jokolibroccoli
Summary: //"James Gordon stood by the window in his office, slowly putting the phone down. At first he had been hesitant to call the number. After all, it was merely a business card Mr Pennyworth had left on his desk. He had expected an ex-military person. Someone Pennyworth knew from his time in the Royal Navy, someone who was specialized in non-human warfare.To his surprise it had been a school he called. His skepticism had increased at that. Why would some random principal of some private school out in Westchester know how to deal with this very specific and unusual kind of threat?" //After an attack on Arkham Asylum that left most of the facility's basement area destroyed and several senior staff members missing, investigations quickly show that it could have only been carried out by a powerful metallokinetic.Detective James Gordon seeks assistance from a supposed expert on mutant topics - Professor Charles Xavier.X-Men/Gotham crossover fic.Mainly set a few years after the plot of "Apocalypse" on the X-Men timeline and towards the end of season two on the Gotham timeline.The X-Men exist inofficially. Unlike in canon, Jim rejoined the police force after the night Gallavan died (again) already.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Kudos: 8





	1. Bruce Wayne

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> This is a little project I started a few months back for my friends because we all agree that the "Hugo Strange holding resurrected superhumans captive in Arkham Asylum" holds a great opportunity to build a bridge to the X-Men universe. Gotham and X-Men are two of my favorite things so why not take that opportunity, then?
> 
> Please note that both franchises deal with heavy topics at times and most characters have trauma of some sort. Tone-wise this will be near canon typical: There might be violence, there might be angst, there might be grief, there might be sexy times ;^) Anything overly explicit will be noted as we go along.
> 
> Please also keep in mind that while I have American family & used to live there, I was born and raised in Germany, so English is not my first language + this isn't beta-ed so pls excuse any language issues.
> 
> This will kind of be an ongoing project, I will write when I have time, but can't guarantee any regularity. Plotwise: the basic framework exists but no details, so I am as excited as you are to see where this might be going :^)
> 
> Much love & enjoy,  
> Jo <3

Bruce Wayne’s first memories of Charles Xavier dated back all the way to his early childhood, to a time where his life was way different from what it was now.

He remembered bright eyes, a warm laugh, a gentle smile – an accent that reminded the young boy of Alfred. The man in the wheelchair had been present at plenty of events his parents had hosted throughout the years. He was an old friend of his father’s apparently – despite being quite a few years younger than him.

Unlike any other of Thomas Wayne’s friends however, the Professor had never been dismissive or belittling towards Bruce. On the contrary, he seemed to have something about his presence that had always made the boy feel seen and heard. There had not been a time he had visited without taking a moment to have a chat with him – a real one, not just polite pleasantries well-behaved children are expected to exchange with their parents’ visitors.

Countless times he had saved him from the boredom of carrying trays with refreshments through the crowds of guests at parties at Wayne manor by having him sit with him to talk about school or whatever the young Wayne was interested in at the time.

Bruce could vividly remember one time – he must have been around seven or eight years old – and it was at the annual Wayne Enterprises Christmas function, the Professor and him were sitting by the fireplace in the main parlor. The boy was always scared to get in trouble for neglecting the tasks his parents assigned him at those events, but seemingly no one would ever even look at them when he was with Professor Xavier. He loved talking to him. Not only was there something deeply mysterious and fascinating to the young boy that came with talking to a real professor – it was also the way the man appeared to always know exactly what Bruce wanted to talk about. It was the first adult that he had felt taken seriously by and like what he had to say was given some genuine thought instead of being dismissed as the ramblings of a child.

That particular day Bruce had asked him what exactly his job was as a professor. Xavier had given him a little smile as he replied: “I’m the head of a school out in Westchester. A very special school.” Bruce had looked at him then: “A special school? What makes it so special?” Xavier had chuckled: “Well for one it’s a boarding school which means–”, “It means that the students have to stay in school aaaall the time, they only get to go home during break and for holidays. My friend Richard goes to a boarding school in Switzerland, that’s all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, did you know that?” The professor had laughed and nodded at that. Bruce had then noticed that he had interrupted him – how rude – so he quickly added: “Anyway, you were saying ‘for one’ which means that there are other reasons for your school to be special, then what else makes it a special school, Professor?”

“You may call me Charles, please, you’re not my student.” he had thrown in before replying: “And it’s a special school because of the people there - it’s a school for special children.” “I’m a special child!” “You sure are, dear. What I mean to say is that all of the students – as well as the teachers for that matter – have a special gift. They are mutants.”

It had been the day that Bruce had learned what a mutant was. He had heard the word before, when he was sitting in the kitchen with Alfred and he was listening to the news on the radio, for example, or when he overheard a conversation between grown-ups – but he had never quite understood what they were talking about. That night by the fireplace the professor had explained to him that some people were born with a special gift – it could be a skill, a sense, or a physical trait, that others simply didn’t have and that those special children needed to learn how to control that gift and how to properly use it, and that that was what him and the other teachers at the professor’s school helped those kids with. He also explained that there were some people out there who didn’t like those mutants and who would accuse them of being dangerous and therefore wanted to harm them – and that that was the reason why the kids all lived together at the school so they could feel safe and protected.

Bruce had listened closely to everything the professor told him and when he was finished he quickly agreed to what Xavier had said about making the mutants feel safe in this world. “I believe –” he had exclaimed, smiling at the professor: “That it’s not what we look like or what our bodies give us that decides if we are good or evil. It’s how we treat each other.” Charles had looked at him with a fond expression and leaned over to ruffle Bruce’s dark curls: “You are absolutely right,” he had replied: “And you are indeed a very special child for being able to see what so many grown-ups still fail to see.” It had made Bruce’s chest feel warm with pride to hear him say that and when Alfred had picked him up and taken him to bed a little later, he had enthusiastically announced that the professor was forever his favorite of all the people his parents invited to their house.

That conversation dated back what felt like a lifetime by now. There had been more lighthearted ones of the kind throughout the following four years but then Bruce’s parents died and his life changed forever. While the rest of Thomas and Martha Wayne’s social circle abruptly disappeared out of their son's life after the funeral, Charles stayed. However, something about the way Bruce saw the professor changed that day after the service, when Charles sitting by himself dressed in all black appeared so weirdly natural to him: Despite never having noticed a particular melancholy about the man before he somehow seemed accustomed to mourning... A thought that sent a shiver down the boy’s spine.

Later that day, when Bruce could no longer bear with the looks and talk from the funeral guests, he fled to his father’s office. His eyes stung with tears that were threatening to roll down his face and now that he was alone he let them. He was tired, oh so tired, and all he wanted to do is roll up in his mother’s arms and cry himself to sleep but he would never again be able to do that. He shivered with heavy sobs as he sat underneath his father’s desk hoping it might shelter him from the unbearable feeling of being vulnerable, exposed, that had ridden him ever since that night in the alleyway.

He hadn’t been sitting like that for long when he was startled by a knock on the door. Quickly he got up and wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve – he didn’t want anyone to see he had been crying like a toddler, after all he was twelve years old. “Come in.” he said, desperately hoping his voice didn’t sound as weak and pathetic as it felt.

The door swung open and the professor entered the room. He gave Bruce a sympathetic little nod before raising his hands in a gesture of defeat: “Would you mind closing the door for me? It’s always a struggle, turning the chair around, closing the door, and so on.” The boy nodded and hurried towards the door, closing it while still sniffling a bit. “You know, Bruce, there is really no shame in crying.” The professor said calmly.

Bruce was still standing behind him from having closed the door, and he froze, staring at the back of the man’s – newly and still unusually – bald head.

“Of course there isn’t”, he replied hesitantly: “But I don’t see a particular point in it, either.” “You are aching, Bruce. And you have every right to be.”

Now the professor ended up turning around his wheelchair after all, looking at the boy distinctly. Despite the unbearable pain in his chest, he found the way Charles’ blue eyes didn’t break contact with his brown ones quite refreshing.

Throughout the entire process of losing his parents, no one had once looked at him like that, looked at him not with pity but with genuine understanding in his eyes - no one but perhaps Alfred, though his looks were always accompanied with a sense of helplessness these days.

“If you want me to cry then why are you even here? I can cry fairly well by myself.” he hadn't meant to snap at the professor – he was just so … full of anger – he couldn’t stand here and have a calm conversation like that while his parents laid in their graves riddled with bullets. It didn’t feel right.

“So you are ashamed.”, “Excuse me?”, “If you want me to leave so you can cry then I assume you are indeed at least a little bit ashamed of it. How so?” Bruce had no idea what to reply to that. He felt exposed – once again. The brooding anger rose in his chest with even more intensity than before. Who did the professor think he was to judge his way of dealing with this situation? What did he know about what this kind of pain felt like?

"Bruce, trust me, the anger you are experiencing right now is misleading. The rage is pain and grief in disguise. You might want to yell, to break something, even hurt someone perhaps, but this is not –", "What could you possibly tell me about what I am going through? How could you even begin to understand what I am feeling?! I am tired of all you grownups looming over me and telling me how to feel, what to do, how to act – you act like you know everything yet you know nothing. NOTHING!"

The tears were running down his face freely now as he was yelling at the professor, tired of holding back. The latter didn't react whatsoever, though. He wasn't fazed, or angry, or offended in anyway. He just sighed slightly and leaned back in his wheelchair, his head resting on his hand.

"I know a great deal more about what you're going through than you're acknowledging right now." His voice was calm but serious, his eyes didn't stray from the boy once. He continued: "But I understand that you don't want to talk to me at the moment, and I won't blame you for that. Just know that you are entitled to your grief and that you are not alone in this. This is something I wish someone had told me when I lost my parents so I'm telling it to you now."

Once again, Bruce had no idea what to say to this. It dawned on him that he had spoken mindlessly and that he actually had no idea what the Professor might know and what not. Involuntarily his mind went back to what he had thought earlier when he had first seen him after the service. Before he could make out anything to say that he deemed appropriate, the professor gave him a sympathetic smile and placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

"It is undeniable that this tragedy has irreversibly changed you but it is in your hands to choose the shape this change will assume." He raised his eyebrows at the boy as if to make him consider his words before rolling past him to open the door.

When he disappeared down the hall Bruce was almost certain that this was the last he had ever seen of the professor, and that it would be his fault if that assumption turned out to be correct.

However, it didn't. The professor's visits to Wayne manor didn't stop after the funeral. He would come to visit every once in a while, he would talk to Bruce a little – check up on him, ask how things were going – but mostly he would talk to Alfred. They would sit behind closed doors in the kitchen, their muffled voices behind old wooden doors being the only proof that Bruce wasn’t alone in the mansion.

He appreciated the professor's visits, especially for Alfred’s sake, however, something in him felt like he couldn’t quite talk to him the way he used to – shame perhaps.


	2. Charles Xavier

The second the telephone rang, Charles knew what the call was going to be about. His telepathy was limited without cerebro and it never worked via telephone but he didn’t need to be a telepath to know what was going to be asked of him.

It had taken him no time at all to see what – or better whom – they were dealing with once he had seen the video footage on the news.

He mentally called the students together for an assembly in the main hall before wheeling himself out of his study and into the hallway. He was immediately accompanied by Raven and Hank who had been waiting for him outside the door.

“We’re going to Gotham City.” Charles announced before either of them could say anything: “Arkham Asylum has been attacked. Several staff members and patients are missing.” He could hear Raven scoff behind him and he could perfectly imagine the way she rolled her eyes along with it. “And since when are we the police’s errand boys… or girls?”

“What’s going on?” Peter asked before the professor could reply, stepping out of the library alongside Kurt.

“Charles wants us to go solve some missing persons cases for the GCPD, because apparently that’s what we do now.” Charles took a sharp breath in an attempt to keep himself from projecting his annoyance at his sister’s disrespect. “They suspect mutant involvement.”

“Mutant involvement? Well yes of course mutants could be involved since we make up a certain percentage of the population of this country! The police better learn how to deal with mutant cases the same way they’d deal with non-mutant cases, that’s how integration works.”

“She does have a point,” Peter said dryly as the group entered the elevator to the ground floor. “Professor.” he added as Charles raised an eyebrow at him. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the doors slid shut and the elevator began to move. Eventually, Charles ended it by sighing softly before clearing his throat.

“The wall lining –consisting of multiple tons of solid steel – came apart without any apparent use of explosives or other kind of physical energy. When the asylum’s emergency program shut down all electric activity someone still managed to make their way to the basement via the elevator, and multiple witnesses claim to have been held captive by metal piping wrapping around their ankles – forgive me if I deem this mission unavoidable.” He did his best to keep his voice as even and low as possible but he suspected he did a poor job doing so judging by the way his eyes began to sting and his throat felt dry when he was finished.

There was more silence afterwards. But he could feel the others’ minds shifting the second he mentioned what sounded like the act of a powerful metallocinetic – and there was no need to ask why. “You think it’s–“ Raven’s voice sounded rough and shaky as opposed to her snarky remarks earlier. Charles looked at her for a second before letting his eyes wander towards Peter – who had grown frighteningly pale under his words.

“I simply don’t understand, why would he–“, “I don’t know, Raven.” Charles answered truthfully as they left the elevator on the ground floor. “I have my suspicions but none of them can be confirmed unless we go and have a look at this for ourselves.” Charles was relieved at the way he could feel the others’ agreement pour into the air.

No one – besides Raven – ever truly questioned Charles’ authority in decision making but the professor always made sure not to overstep anyone’s personal needs and that everyone’s voices had been heard. He didn’t consider himself above the rest of the teaching staff but he knew the others did and he would never dare to abuse the power and trust put into him by his friends to chase his own aspirations.

“I guess we have no choice but to go.” Hank confirmed and Charles released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding at the verbal confirmation of what he felt.

This gave him the strength he needed to face the student body with real confidence and certainty – not the faked version of it he’d adopted out of necessity in the past.

Once everybody was gathered in the main hall he mentally asked students and teachers alike to quiet down so he could speak. He cleared his throat and gave a reassuring smile into the crowd before beginning with his announcement.

“Hello everyone, thank you for coming. We have something to discuss.” The breathless sting of anxiety floated towards him from countless minds – he had to close his eyes for a moment to overcome the dizziness of it.

“Now, my dears, don’t be frightened. It is simply for the fact that classes will be dismissed throughout the entirety of the upcoming week that I have called you here.”

The anxiety shifted into the confused but relieved buzz of excitement that came with the unexpected announcement of a weeklong break – something that was still slightly distracting but by far more agreeable to listen to.

“Something has come up that is of utmost importance to me and I see myself obliged to look into it. Several teachers – myself among them – will be absent for a few days and I want you to be at your best behavior for those I will put in charge to look after you while I am gone, alright?”

It filled Charles with pride of his students to see them look at him and nod in agreement at his words. He took a few more minutes to answer any questions as well as he could before dismissing everyone but two students whom he called to meet him in his office. Once he had made his way there, Jean Grey and Scott Summers were already standing by the door.

“Professor, you wanted to talk to us?” Charles nodded as he led the way into the room. “I have something to ask of you – something rather important really and I wanted to make sure it was going to be okay for you to do it.”, “Is it dangerous?” Scott looked at Charles intently and his stare was piercing despite the colored lenses of his glasses. Charles smiled at the protectiveness radiating from the boy’s mind. “No. Of course not. The least I would want is to put you in unnecessary danger. It just might be a little … challenging? Or rather stressful at times.”

This was the moment that Jean’s telepathy must have picked up on what Charles had in mind as she looked at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. She bit her bottom lip as she seemed in thought for a moment, twirling a strand of her ginger hair between her fingers. _“Professor, are you sure this –“, “I believe in you, Jean. You are the only one I can stay in contact with while I’m gone. I am as concerned as you are – leaving my students by themselves for a few days – but there is simply no one among the adults I deem expendable on this mission.”_

“So what’s going on?” Scott crossed his arms in front of his chest and let his gaze wander between the two telepaths: “What did you have in mind?”

Jean reached out to take Scott’s hand between her own, rubbing the knuckles gently with her thumb. “The Professor wants us to … be in charge while he’s gone. He’s taking the rest of the staff as well as Storm, Kurt, and Peter with him so he wants us – as the oldest and most experienced students to look after the younger ones. Additionally –“, “I can stay connected to Jean via telepathy and she can reach out if necessary without either of us being dependent on telephones or other devices.”

Charles let go of his bottom lip – he had been worrying it between his teeth – to give his students a cheerful smile. “I know it is a high level of responsibility I ask of you but my trust in you is unshaken. If there is anyone among the student body I can trust with this it’s certainly you two. And if there’s any trouble –“ he raised his hand to tap his temple with his index and middle finger “I’m just a thought away.”

Scott didn’t seem too happy with the idea but nodded his head regardless. Charles couldn’t quite tell whether it was the responsibility for his fellow students or the fact that he’d be left out of the mission that bothered him but he was glad that behind the curtain of annoyance understanding for the Professor’s request was clearly noticeable.

“I cannot thank you enough, you two. I have faith in you – you have proven yourself worthy of it more than once.” Jean smiled at that and placed a hand on Charles' shoulder. “We will do our best not to disappoint you.” Scott nodded in support of her statement. “That will suffice.” Charles replied, returning the smile. “Now if you will excuse me, I have some preparations to make.”

As soon as the office door fell shut behind the students, the professor buried his face in his hands and let out a deep, exhausted sigh. His head was spinning with the news of today’s events and all the telepathic impressions of hundreds of the confused and mildly concerned young people at the school were not helping either. He wasn’t sure what to make of any of this, it just all didn’t make sense – not even in the slightest.

He had been so certain that this time Erik finally would have found the way to a more peaceful path for himself. When they had parted roughly ten years ago he had seemed so… calm. Of course he had been grieving, he had just lost the people he cared about most in his life –once again –but some naive part of Charles had made him confident that they had at last worked out a way for Erik to lead a life apart from hatred and destruction, to go somewhere and find peace.

But it couldn’t have been all naïveté, could it now? After all – he was a telepath: what he had gathered from the other man’s presence the last time they had met couldn’t have been all wishful thinking… Erik’s sudden return to old habits didn’t seem logical to Charles at all. Obviously it wasn’t the first time this happened but still … something didn’t feel right. Attacking a mental health institution for criminals? Kidnapping inmates and staff members?

Charles slouched in his chair and slightly shook his head. He had been waiting for a sign from Erik all these years. Countless times he had used cerebro to try and make out the mind that he had felt so ridiculously drawn to ever since that night in Florida all those years ago… to no avail. Erik remained hidden from him – and it pained Charles to know that the German was probably doing it intentionally.

But this – watching the news and seeing this all too familiar destruction – was not the sign he had been hoping for, this was not at all what he had wanted. It had been painful enough to watch Erik walk away ten years ago, making an active decision that there was no place for Charles Xavier in his new – presumably peaceful – life. But having to face him now? Like this? The telepath took a deep breath to calm his rapid heartbeat. It didn’t matter if he was ready for this or not, what mattered was keeping Erik and the GCPD from having a violent clash. His personal feelings had no place in this.

The latter thought became kind of a silent mantra he kept telling himself over and over all through the process of packing his stuff up until they were in the car to Gotham City – _no place for Charles Xavier’s personal feelings_. If he reminded himself of this often enough perhaps one day he would be able to live by it. One day.


End file.
